


we’ve got this string tied around our hearts and our fingers

by angelcult



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Red String of Fate, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25316554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelcult/pseuds/angelcult
Summary: Dean and Sam have been soulmates for forever, literally, but after college, Dean and Sam have learn to rebuild the trust and bond they once had, this time while navigating the difficulties of a String that’s been pulled taut for too long.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135
Collections: Supernatural Trope Celebration 2020





	we’ve got this string tied around our hearts and our fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written for SPN is a few months but it was good to jump back into it with the trope celebration ^^

Seeing in color was for soulmates, for people who the Universe smiled down on and gave happiness to, in the form of a friend, a family member or a lover.

However, sometimes those colored lines crossed and got tangled together. Friend and family, lover and friend, were common tangles but if you were unlucky, that wasn’t always the case.

Dean Winchester considered himself only marginally unlucky, all three of his strings of fate were tangled, the only color he could see was the bright, gleaming pastel purple of the white, blue and red all mixed up. 

He was oftentimes glad, no, he was _ecstatic,_ that the only person who would be able to see them was himself and his soulmate, his soulmate who was currently pint sized and didn’t even have a string yet. 

“De!” 

Speaking of the devil, Sammy was toddling up to him, wide hazel eyes staring up at him with the warmth and fascination only a child could have.

Dean’s eyes followed his strings, and they all led to Sammy, who’s own was still gray as he was only four. 

They would brighten and start to glow with age, and he'd have to share Dean’s burden as well, and god, Dean didn’t want that.

He wanted Sam happy, to fall in love with some perfect, apple pie woman but as fate would have it, his _brother_ was his everything.

Of course Dean knew what the strings meant, everyone was curious about them when they first began to glow. He’d asked his father, not like he had much of a mother anymore, and he was met with fear and sadness. 

John was filled with the sadness of knowing that his boys wouldn’t be safe in the world he’d dragged them into. It was dangerous already, life and death, but some of those creatures could see those strings, ones that were powerful enough could _cut_ them.

Cutting a string was like losing life force, one would weaken if lost, but Dean’s were all tangled, he’d die, and so would Sam. 

  
  


“Hey, Sammy.” Dean ruffled Sam’s long hair, his bangs fell into his eyes and John would have to cut it soon. 

“De?” He asked again and Dean leaned in a little. 

“Whatcha want, Sammy?” 

“Dad?” 

Dean frowned, glancing around the otherwise empty motel room before he pulled Sam up into his lap and hugged him to his chest, resting his chin on top of Sam’s head.

“He’ll be home soon.” 

Dean knew it was a lie as he said it. 

  
  


As Sam grew older, his strings grew brighter, and they often tugged at Dean’s, like he was yanking them, trying to rip them off.

Sometimes, Dean wondered if he was. 

When school began to roll around, and Dean found himself having to decide between school and a diploma and Sammy and a meal, it was obvious which one he’d choose. 

Sam smiled around the spoonful of cereal and Dean smiled back, and if he ignored the jolt of something not quite brotherly from Sam’s end of the string, he could almost imagine that their strings were platonic. 

  
  


They always shared a bed, sharing a bed wasn’t even something they really batted an eye at anymore but now, that Sam was sixteen, soon to be seventeen, and dreams weren’t so innocent, it had led to many awkward situations.

Such as now.

Sam was asleep, and the boy, for all his hunter training, slept hard and deep. Though, it didn’t leave much to the imagination as to what he was dreaming about since he was pressed right up to Dean’s side, rutting into his thigh.

It happened a lot, more than Dean would have pegged for a kid so studious and seemingly turned off by anything remotely sexual in nature.

However, this was the third time this week that Dean had been awake in their shared bed (they were too old to still be sharing a bed but they couldn’t lie about how much _better_ it felt to be so close to each other) while Sam moaned softly under his breath and rutted into his thigh until he either frustratedly fell deeper into sleep or he came, and woke up embarrassed.

Not that Dean was remotely against laughing at Sam’s red cheeks and his awkward waddle from the bed to the bathroom for a quick shower. 

Not that he didn’t feel the tug of their string, wanting to follow. 

  
  


“Ellen, these are my boys.” 

John placed a rough hand on the back of Dean’s neck and shook a little. 

“This is Dean, and that’s Sam.” He nodded just head to the mop haired boy who was twiddling his fingers (pulling at the string, holding Dean’s attention). 

The woman smiled at them and waved them further into the bar. A girl with hair just like her mother, a little lighter, was watching Dean out the corner of her eye. 

Entranced with grey eyes and freckles (she bet that shade of gray was some bright and beautiful color), and that easy smile as he introduced himself to Ellen, he had a bit of a limp.

The other boy seemed a little more withdrawn, close to his brother (a little too close) with his fingers twisted together. 

She imagined that all that pulling he was doing was annoying his soulmate. 

  
  


It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary that John was dropping them off at a friend's and leaving, but Dean had hurt his leg in a hunt and Sam didn’t want to leave him in some empty motel room.

He wasn’t defenseless, but John had just muttered something about _“soulmate worries”_ and surprisingly, Sam had gotten his way. 

“Settle down now, boys, we’re closed today so I guess that’s your luck. I’ll have Jo show ya to your rooms-“

“Room.” Sam gently corrected, and Ellen gave him a confused look, leaning her hip against the counter. “Pardon?”

“Room.” Sam said again, louder before continuing to speak. “We only need one room.” He held up his hand to clarify, flicking his forefinger and the strings (all tangled and glowing) flickered into view for a moment. 

Ellen’s eyebrows went up, and Dean found his eyes snapping to her, waiting to see her reaction. Even if their love was literally destined for them, they found that not everyone saw it that way, and sprained knee aside, if anyone tried to hurt Sam he’d be raising hell before dragging him out of the bar in the middle of nowhere and finding the nearest motel. 

John had called the boys a little _“unconventional”_ before basically dropping them off at her doorstep, and now she understood why. 

Even without having seen that, she found herself aware that they were a bit odd. They were so close together, practically bumping elbows every time the other moved and yet, they seemed comfortable.

“That ‘a problem?” Dean asked, green eyes burrowing into Ellen’s and she found that while Sam was nonchalant about their strings, Dean was protective.

“How old are you, Sam?”

Sam frowned but answered the question.

“I’m seventeen, ma’am.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed a little but Sam surprised them both when he kept talking. 

“But you don’t have to worry about that, Dean’s good.” 

_Dean’s good._

It was such an odd way of answering her unspoken question, that Ellen could only smile a little before nodding her head to the stairs behind her.

“Jo! Show the boys to their room.”

_Single._

Watching the three of them walk past, Ellen caught a glimpse of Sam bumping his elbow into Dean’s side, smiling at him, and Dean’s shoulders relaxed.

Maybe there was something wrong with the way their strings were connected, but watching them in that moment, Ellen didn’t see it. 

  
  


“I’m eighteen, Dad, you can’t keep me here! I’ve already been accepted, I’m going!”

“Samuel Winchester! You are not leaving, I didn’t raise you to-“

Sam laughed, loud and mirthless. “Yeah! You didn’t _raise me!_ I got that full ride without you, because you were never here! You were always out looking for the next monster of the week or the month and forgetting about your own kids! I didn’t _ask_ for this!”

John stormed close to Sam, but unsurprisingly, he didn’t back up and soon Sam found himself eye to eye with his father, eyes harsh and angry, wet with unshed tears. 

He was an angry crier. 

“And abandon your brother?”

Sam faltered, flexed his hand in a fist and Dean felt the string tug hard, like Sam was yanking it as hard as he could.

Dean already knew that Sam didn’t want to leave him, he’d known for weeks that his brother was going off to college, that he’d grown up and if anything, it’s what Sam deserved.

He deserved normality. 

Normality, it wasn’t having a brother as a soulmate, it wasn’t _that._

It was college, for a start. 

  
  


As they drove to the airport, Dean only drove with one hand as he held Sam’s with the other, their forefingers wrapped together, soothed by that point of contact. 

“Sammy, I know this is going to be good for you. College will be good.” Sam smiled and nodded slowly at him, hesitant.

“You can still come with me.” 

And Dean wanted to be selfish, he wanted to say _yes_ and board the plane with only the clothes on his back and his hand wound with Sam’s, but that was a pipe dream and it would lead to nowhere. 

Sam had to go on his own, he had to leave by himself. 

And they both knew it yet. 

  
  
  


“Easy there, Tiger.” 

Even in the dark, Sam could see the bright glow of his string, feel the tugging as Sam realized the familiar yet unfamiliar weight on top of him, and he relaxed against the floor.

“Dean? What are you doing here?”

Dean relaxed where he was sitting on Sam’s stomach, taking in his brother as well as he could in the dark. 

“It’s Dad. Went on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

“Okay,” Sam started sitting up, pushing Dean off his lap and climbing to his feet, brushing off his shirt. 

“You got a roommate or anything?” 

Sam flicked the light on and shook his head. He thought briefly of the girl, Jessica, that he nearly considered rooming with but there had been a moment where all he could think about was fire when he saw her, so he’d declined the offer.

Which was probably good seeing as his big brother had just broken in and was staring at him in a way he probably thought was subtle, but really wasn’t.

It was like he’d hung the moon and sun for him.

“But what does it matter? It’s not like dad hasn’t disappeared before.” 

“Yes, but never this long, never for anything like this.” 

Sam paused, looking over his shoulder at Dean. There was a pulse in their string, an ache, but Sam ignored it.

“He didn’t-?”

Dean nodded.

“He went after the demon, and he hasn’t been home.”

_Home_ was a subjective term, if home was a string of motels that littered the entirety of the United States.

“And you want me to help you find him?” Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed and when Dean nodded, Sam shouldn’t have expected less. 

He’d always loved Dad, even when Sam found that he couldn’t. 

“Come on, Sammy-“

“It’s Sam-“

“Just help me with this, please. It’s been years. I..” Dean paused and Sam saw him wanting to repress his emotions, only to quickly shove them down once more.

“Just help me find Dad, and I won’t ever drag you back into this again.”

Sam paused and clenched his fist, feeling the tug of their string for a moment before Sam spoke, voice soft.

“It’s.. what I told you, when I first left, it still stands.” 

There was a glimmer of recognition in Dean’s eyes and Sam, for a moment, was hopeful. Maybe this time Dean would choose him over Dad, maybe he’d be good enough for his brother. 

“Sammy, I..” Dean saw the hope rising in his brother’s eyes and he stopped short, hesitant but only for a moment.

“Sam, I can’t.”

The disappointment was like a punch to the stomach, after so many years, but Sam felt that he could soon become used to it if he went with Dean.

“I know.”

Because he _did,_ he knew that Dean was a good soldier, Sam was the broken one, the one that Dad hadn’t understood, the one that was a little too dark.

He knew.

“Okay.”

Dean tilted his head in a manner similar to that of a cute puppy. “What?”

Sam sighed and forced a smile, but he knew that Dean could probably feel his disappointment and his annoyance through the string.

“Okay. I’ll help you find Dad.”

It was worth it, to see the smile that lit up Dean’s face.

  
  
  


Sitting in Baby after years of driving around in friend’s cars, taking the bus or walking felt as close to home as Sam had ever felt for a long time. 

It was relaxing and he found himself melting back into the bench seat with no complaint. Well, there _wasn’t_ any until Dean turned on the radio and god awful rock blasted through the speakers. 

“Ugh, what is this? Do you know what year it is, man?” Sam asked with a frown as he reached for the radio, only to quickly yank it back when Dean slapped him on the back of it.

“Driver picks the music,” He reached over and twisted the dial, turning it up louder. “And you can shut your cake hole.” 

Sam made a face, looking away from his brother with his lips turned down in a frown but he couldn’t really ignore the warmth in his chest at the familiarity of it.

He’d missed this, amongst the richness and aesthetic beauty of Stanford. 

The purr of Baby’s engine, the sound of Dean quietly singing along to _Motley Crüe_ and not to mention, the soft glow of their strings. 

Sam always counted himself as lucky, to have always been able to see color, as the world was gray for so many. 

When he was younger, and he steadily began to understand how the world worked and how the strings were a detrimental part of that world, he almost resented Dean, for having been old enough to decide he didn’t really want his younger brother like _that._

He’d confused his own teenage angst and confused feelings with the pain he felt from the string, thought he wasn’t wanted.

The feeling never quite left, it wasn’t talked out, it was left to simmer between them with the lid on, and hopefully, it wouldn’t boil over when they needed each other the most. 

  
  


The motel was a little hesitant about letting two grown men share a room, and Sam chalked it up to homophobia until Dean cleared it up quickly by pointing out that they were brothers. 

Dean knew that he and Sam weren’t very similar in appearance, in fact, many would mistake them for partners first. When Dean was younger, it used to give him some hope about their relationship as soulmates. 

The strings, the fact that they were soulmates, and their lack of distinctive and shared features, it would have made it so much easier to pretend they weren’t related, maybe it would even ease the guilt that Dean felt when he’d seen Sam as _more,_ for those brief rash of wet dreams he’d had at sixteen. 

  
  


“Where do you think we should start looking for Dad at?” Sam asked, taking off his pullover and revealing his chest, where a black shirt stretched the span of. 

Dean had seen him shirtless many times, hell, he’d had him _pinned down to the floor_ less than two days ago but that didn’t make it any easier to look at his face before he looked at his chest. 

His brother was attractive, and it wasn’t just the fact that that was his soulmate that made him say it. 

“Well, last I heard he was somewhere down South, Mississippi.”

Sam was always quick on the draw, didn’t let Dean’s words slip past him without analyzing them first and then again just to be certain.

“Last you heard? When was that?” 

Dean cringed as he took off Dad’s leather jacket, the amulet Sam had given him glinting in the dim light of the motel. 

Sam shouldn’t have been surprised that Dean was still wearing it, even with the facade he oftentimes hid behind, he was sentimental and filled to the brim with emotion.

“About two weeks ago but it’s all we’ve got, Sam. Everything else is full of dead ends or just don’t make any sense at all.” 

Sam frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. 

“Mississippi, so, voodoo case?”

“Maybe, but we can’t be certain.” Dean held up a journal that Sam was more than familiar with. 

“He didn’t write it down either. Not like the man ever really planned in advance.”

Sam snorted but he knew that it was true. 

“So, Mississippi?”

“Mississippi.”

As they got ready for bed, Dean found himself wanting to climb into bed with Sam. He knew that he shouldn’t, Sam more than likely wouldn’t allow him to get more than an arm in before he was pushing to the floor. 

The string tightened, trying to force them closer together than the five feet that was between the beds but Dean ignored it, as he had been doing for years, and turned his back to Sam to sleep. 

  
  


That morning, Dean found himself tired, even more so than he was after a might of bad sleep but it didn’t deter him from getting ready at the crack of dawn, gratuitously allowing Sam another half an hour of sleep before he woke him up as well. 

“Up and at ‘em, Sammy.” 

Dean noted the way the string once again tugged at the sight of Sam sleepy and warm-looking, this time a little harder than last night. 

Sam groaned, clearly feeling it as well as he rolled over to face Dean, blearily opening his eyes to stare up at him.

“Why’s it doing that?” 

“Don’t know.” Dean grunted, a lie, but not one that Sam put much thought into while he was half awake and still forcing himself awake.

The tugging continued its insistence through the drive and well into their investigation. The string wrapped itself around their arms until they were brushing together when they walked, drawing a bit of attention from those around them. 

Sam had tried to pull away, only to send a spark of pain up both of their spines. 

“Ow! Why is it-“ Sam touched the string and Dean softly groaned, making both of them pause. 

They both felt it and their faces began to burn. 

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s alright, Sam, you didn’t.. Know.” 

  
  


Sitting down in front of his laptop, Sam’s eyes had grown tired of reading about different types of swamp creatures that while native to Louisiana, still ended up in Mississippi (as confusing as that must be for whatever natural order that the supernatural followed). 

His eyes fell to his hand and he wiggled his fingers, the string sparkling. Sometimes Sam wondered what it would have been like to be a teenager who wasn’t soulmates with his brother.

It’s a thought that occasionally sparked guilt in his chest but he wondered what it would have been like to shyly link his fingers with someone to see if the world went from gray to bright and beautiful colors.

Would his string still be attached to Dean? Would his string have been attached to a friend instead, not that Sam could have made many friends in this life.

Sam glanced up across the tiny motel table, as far as he could go without the pull of the string bordering on painful for the both of them. 

He was asleep, head tilted slightly back and his eyes pressed closed, relaxed. 

Looking back down at the computer, Sam opened up a tab and began typing.

_“String of fate plus pain and pulling.”_

He got a good few articles, more than he’d honestly been expecting. He scrolled through, looking for one that was more professional and trustworthy.

Upon finding one that fit his wants, Sam clicked on the link and read through.

The more he read, the more Sam’s face flushed and eventually, he stopped reading to bury his face in his hands. 

_“The tugging and eventual pain of one’s string can easily be corrected with extended periods of physical contact. Oftentimes those who share a string but are not in constant contact with one another may begin experiencing the side effects of this._

_Easy remedies for this are: sleeping together, holding hands, sexual intercourse, and prolonged kissing._

_However, the extended effects of this include but are not limited to: splintering, tearing, detrimental pain, lowered immunity to sickness, and even death.”_

  
  


“Dean,” Sam kicked his brother’s foot beneath the table and Dean startled out of sleep, squinting against the lights of the room.

“What?” He slurred, green eyes focusing in on Sam. 

The younger of the two turned the laptop towards Dean who squinted against the light as he read. A somewhat solemn look crossed his face as he sat up, closing the laptop and looking at Sam.

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to _not_ die or have our strings break, for starters.” 

It was right there, the solution. There was a bed in the room, they could cuddle, and even sleep together for a few days and the pain would go away.

It was so easy but they both knew that once they started, it would cross a line they weren’t so sure they could go back over. 

It would be like it was when they were younger, when they were always so close and how they had toed that line of _lovers._

If Sam hadn’t left, would it have happened? Would this have been a possibility never even possible to be presented because they would have continued to share a bed, the line wouldn’t have existed.

Now, though, their cards were held a little closer to their chest and they refused to play a hand, but now, they had managed to catch it early.

It was time to lay the cards down. 

“So..” Dean nodded to the bed and Sam nodded but neither moved for a moment before Dean stood and Sam followed suit.

Climbing into bed together like that was so reminiscent of their childhood that it made Dean’s head spin.

They didn’t speak, didn’t really need to because this was territory they were familiar with, even if Sam was slowly but surely getting taller. 

Sam’s back against Dean’s chest, arms draped around his brother’s waist. They practically melted together, the tension seemingly slowing out of them. 

Being soulmates, contact was always a good indicator of mood, but also sharing a string, it was just mandatory.

How they’d gone four, nearly five, years without it was something that both startled and amazed Dean. 

Sam sank into Dean’s warmth, it was like coming home to be held like this by his soulmate and other half.

The pain and the pulling ceased slowly, waning off into a feeling not unlike being tucked into a soft and thick blanket. 

Sam didn’t know who fell asleep first but when his eyes closed, he knew it was a better sleep than he’d gotten in years. 

  
  


When Sam’s eyes opened the next day, he noted that he felt extremely well rested and that he also didn’t want to get up. Dean was still asleep behind him, softly snoring.

Sam wanted to pry himself away, he had to pee and he also wanted to stretch himself out from the position he’d been curled into but he wasn’t sure if the pain and pulling would make itself present again or not, and he wasn’t too keen on finding out either. 

Dean sighed, nose buried in Sam’s hair, that smelled like motel soap and the leather of the Impala, it was what home and comfort smelled like, he was certain.

Dean’s hips rutted forward a little, pressing into something warm but not really familiar and his hips seemed to have a mind of their own for a moment until the previous night came rushing back and his eyes flew open.

The back of Sam’s neck was red and what little he could see of his face was as well.

“Ah, shit-“ Dean scrambled back only to fall right to the floor in a heap. 

A tense silence fell over the room for a moment before Sam stood from the bed in silence and rushed to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind himself. 

Dean stared at the door for a moment before he swore under his breath and laid down on the floor. 

“Fuck.”

  
  


“Sam, duck!” 

It was first instinct to listen to Dean, and Sam felt his body before his mind completely translated the order and he felt the air ripple over him as something whistled by. 

The gunshot that followed was loud and it rang loudly through the warehouse before silence fell over, still and heavy. 

“You alright, Sammy?”

Sam ran his hands over his chest and did a mental inventory of his senses before nodding.

“Yeah, I’m good. What about you, Dean?” 

Dean just gave Sam a little smile, and Sam relaxed.

They leaned into each other as they limped out of the warehouse, dragging the werewolf corpse behind them to be burned. 

  
  


Sam was starting to have nightmares, gruesome murders and hellhound attacks, he recounted them back to his brother with a blank voice but haunted eyes.

“I think they’re visions.”

“What do you mean?” Dean glanced at his brother before his eyes fell back on the road, readjusting his hands on the wheel when Sam made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

“The people I see, in my uh, my dreams, they’re real. All of them.”

Dean’s eyebrows drew up in surprise and he found himself wanting to look at Sam again, just to make sure he’d heard him correctly. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. The hellhound attack, the-the _demons.._ All of it.”

Their string wound tightly for a moment and Dean knew that even if Sam was simply talking to him like it was nothing, he more than bothered by everything he was saying, to the point of reaching for comfort, no matter how subconscious it may have been. 

“What do you think it could mean?”

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. 

“I don’t know-“ The more he talked, the more Dean realized that he wasn’t looking at him, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other until Dean cleared his throat, cutting him off in the middle of his ranting.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else aren’t you telling me, Sammy?”

Dean watched the other stop what he was doing to pause and watch Dean for a few seconds, minutely tugging on their string before his shoulders slumped down. 

“It was gray.”

Dean felt cold all of a sudden. He didn’t remember much of what it was like to see in only those monotone colors, Sammy had been born and his world had burst into color. 

They had been soulmates all their life, and their strings connected around the time Sam was six.

Soulmates _and_ string-sharers, a double whammy of Fate, one that was so rare it seemed fitting for a pair of Winchesters.

“You’ve never seen in gray-“

“I know.. I know.”

And now that Dean knew what else to look for, he could see it, how it went deeper than being unnerved by visions, it was the unnerving feeling of a _loss._

When a soulmate died, their other half lost their colors, but Dean and Sam were so intricately connected and intertwined that there was no way that one could possibly die and the other would live.

They’d been touching more since the last situation where they didn’t touch _enough,_ though Dean was always a little more hesitant to initiate but now, he found himself gently pulling Sam into a hug and holding him close to his chest.

“It’s okay, I’m still here. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He got a slightly choked up laugh out of Sam, felt him melting a little into his hold.

“I know but- there wasn’t any colors and I couldn’t find you and someone died-“

“Sam?”

“What.”

“Hellhounds are dogs, right?”

Sam pulled back a little to nod, visibly confused by the question until Dean smiled and shook his head a little, endeared.

“Dogs don’t see colors, dumbass.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead before he could think and then overthink about it, feeling his cheeks flush.

There was a lapse in noise before Sam started to laugh, fingers tightening on Dean’s shoulders as he laughed, holding onto him as he laughter devolved into sobs, hurt and broken.

Dean couldn’t even imagine what Sam was feeling as he held him, lowering both of them to the floor as his brother bawled his eyes out into his chest.

“I thought I had lost you or-or I was going to and I didn’t-God, Dean, I can’t lose you, I just got you back.”

_I just got you back._

Dean rested his head atop Sam’s, he smelled like motel soap and the leather of the Impala.

“I’m not going anywhere, little brother. I’d crawl out of Hell for you, I won’t leave you again.”

And it was a promise, both brothers could feel it in the warmth of their strings, seeping into their chests. 

It was unspoken, but both of them could feel the words neither said, that they were both too scared to say because Winchester Luck could either make them richer than God, or bury them six feet deep. 

_I love you._

Dean thinks they just broke something about their “brotherly” relationship, that hadn’t been very brotherly from the start. 

Dean thinks maybe it should have been broken a lot sooner. 


End file.
